


Bedroom Hymns

by gayshitiguess



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: M/M, Made up religions, Petey is secretly a holy boi, Religious overtones, SHES THE BEST, Who will win, but yeah the gods in this have no attachment to real life religions, idk how the fuck to tag this, juno steels horriness, mostly - Freeform, or one (1) holy boi, religious relics, she protects the dead and lgbtq people and outcasts, shes super cool, there is a patron saint in catholicism named our lady of holy death, this was mostly a product of my gay religious frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 19:51:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19069510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayshitiguess/pseuds/gayshitiguess
Summary: Juno has been trying to talk to Nureyev alone since he got aboard the ship, but it’s been made clear that Nureyev, for one, is not interested. When they get a job retrieving a holy relic, it becomes clear that this is far more personal for one master thief than Juno thought.





	Bedroom Hymns

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been trying to figure out how to write this guy for a while, and I finally managed to finish it. This can be read as a companion piece to my other post season 2 fic, Pas de Duex. The name of this came from the Florence + the Machine song of the same name. As always, you can find me on tumblr at gayshitiguess. Come talk to me! I love comments! Enjoy!

Buddy had been clear when they started this job; there was no room for error. There was no damage control, no sweeping up after themselves on this one. It was a tight job, a job that could be attempted once and only once, and she intended to get exactly what she wanted. Uranian religious relics were few and far between in the universe, it’s religions only surviving in small circles in the Outer Rims. They were unpopular mostly because of their connections with the uglier side of conscious life (namely, death), Uranian religions were abandoned in mass for their more attractive Neptunian sisters.  Although unpopular, there was money in the few surviving Holy Relics. People would pay unreasonable amounts of creds to stick them in their private collections and tout to their rich friends about having a piece from the crazy-scary-death-cult. 

 

And the money was, unfortunately, not what they were after. 

 

The Monastery of Our Lady of Holy Death was nestled comfortably just outside of the Outer Rim, safe from the region’s political and military conflicts. It was a nice little planet, more tropical than Mars, and the Monastery, while quaint, had a calming energy about it. Juno liked what he had seen. He’d never really been to a place like it. Mars was mostly a melting pot of cultures from other planets, and the religions were many and none of them fit Juno quite right. He wasn’t bothered by it, really, he liked the churches. They were pretty, but there wasn’t any of the ancient buildings like there were on Earth or Venus. The closest thing to that would have been the Martian Tombs, and, well, those had been bastardized by trauma in his mind. 

 

Buddy and Vespa went in to speak with the Abbot, and as they stepped into the small, creaking, wooden building, translucent white shrouds were placed over their faces. From his place standing between Jet and Nureyev (Pius, he had to remind himself. Adrian Pius. Not his favorite of Nureyev’s aliases, but the one that he’d given the crew for this job.), he scoffed and checked his watch. 

 

“You seem perturbed, Juno,” Jet said quietly beside him. Juno looked up at the Big Guy and blushed. And listen, he was sort of in love with and pinning for Peter Nureyev or Adrian Pius or whatever he wanted to be called, but there was a special place in his cold heart for Jet Sikuliaq. He was a handsome fellow, and tall in a different way than Pius. Juno had a thing for tall people, apparently. Rugged, older in an undefined way, and undeniably safe. Juno knew, sort of, that Pius wouldn’t hurt him, but there was no telling what pointy things were hiding up his sleeves. At least Juno knew that if he needed to fall into Jet’s arms, nothing would poke him. 

 

He shook his head and tried to focus up. 

 

“Just that we’re doing this for free.” He mumbled. 

 

“Come now, Juno,” Pius smirked, “surely the steadfast detective believes in doing things for the greater good!” Juno scoffed again. 

 

“I’m not a detective anymore. And even when I  _ was  _ working for the ‘greater good,’ I was getting a paycheck,” He grumbled. Pius laughed in a way that was suspiciously close to Nureyev’s laugh, and Juno tried to shake that smell out of his head. You’d think that a guy who needed autonomy so badly would choose a different perfume every once in a while. “It’s just the veils,” Juno finally admitted, “it’s hard to read facial expressions with them. I don’t want them lied to.” Pius hummed next to him. 

 

“They’re more sheer than they seem.” He supplied, “When you’re looking at someone straight on, it’s almost as if they aren’t there at all.” Juno quirked an eyebrow. “What, as if I haven’t used such an easy disguise before.  _ Really,  _ Juno,” There was a smile on his face that was definitely Nureyev’s. Juno considered teasing him about it, but Buddy and Vespa were walking back out of the church, removing their shrouds as they entered the sun. 

 

“Thank you, Abbot,” Buddy smiled, taking the hands of a withered old woman into her own, “we’ll return it to you.” She pressed her forehead to their joined hands in a sort of bow. 

 

The three of them stayed still and silent and waited for Buddy to approach. Juno straightened as she came. He might have also been in love with Buddy Aurinko. He was intimidated by her, that was for sure, but there was something about her that gave him hope. Maybe it was that they were so very alike in so many ways, except that Buddy had gotten better. It was nice, seeing her smiling as Vespa took her hand. It made him think that he could have that. Eventually. One day. 

 

And then there was the fact that she commanded so much goddamn respect. He wished that he could make people see him the way she did. Buddy must have noticed him examining her, since she patted his cheek lovingly as they approached. 

 

“We have a job,” She smiled, “and it’s bound to be interesting.” 

 

__

 

The ship was always so fucking cold. Juno had spent his entire life on Mars, which meant that he had spent his entire life never being able to get cool. Even the rich couldn’t get air conditioners strong enough to fight the Martian heat, much less his apartment, which resembled an oven more than a living space. It was just an accepted part of his life, that he would live in turtle necks and jackets to fight the sand and sweat to death at some point. 

 

It had actually been a pleasant surprise, being comfortable on the ship. He had shed his jacket but kept the sweater on, cool enough not to suffer heat stroke as soon as he sat still. 

 

That had lasted about two hours. He had shrugged his jacket back on, and then, two hours later, resorted to sharing body heat with Rita in an attempt to stay warm. 

 

Sixty-five degrees standard was not okay. He’d complained to Buddy, but she’d assured him that, since they needed moving air to live and all, there wasn’t anything she could do. 

 

So, Juno had found himself freezing within twelve minutes of stepping onto the ship at any given time. 

 

He had absolutely no idea how Pius had managed to slink aboard with nothing but a sheer silk shirt and pants tight enough that they may as well have been painted on without a shiver. 

 

The six of them were sitting around the round table on which they ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner, carefully running over the plans for the heist. No undercover work, no elaborate aliases (much to Pius’s chagrin), nothing more than a simple in and out job. Jeremiah Prig was an asshole, but a rich one. Rich assholes liked nothing more than showing off how very rich they were. It would be very easy to slink in as a hired security detail, take it, and get out. The object was to be nameless, faceless, to disappear into the background of whatever suarey he threw next and get out before the alarms could ring. 

 

And shit, Pius might have Nureyev’s flare for the dramatic, but he also had Nureyev’s ability to melt into the thin air. 

 

Which was exactly what he did immediately after the meeting. Juno had been trying to catch him alone for weeks, but had never been able to. The tension that had permeated the first few days aboard had melted, a bit, and their banter in group conversation didn’t miss a beat. It was like Rex Glass or Duke Rose was standing next to him, somebody he knew the curves and shapes of, but never, ever Nureyev. There were differences, of course, little, carefully chosen ones. Rex Glass stood like a Dark Matters agent, like he had a rod rammed up his ass and all the way through his spine. Duke was just so subtlety sheepish, blushing and ducking his head. Pius was a petty, nasty, mean thing. He could say things that cut Juno in half with a smirk and a teasing tone, seeming innocent to an outside observer. But that was probably more Nureyev than anything. 

 

Juno hustled out towards the hallway after Pius, but as soon as he turned the corner, he was gone. He sighed. Maybe he’d be faster tomorrow. 

 

___

 

Juno’s job, of course, was to act as Pius’s backup. He had a sneaking suspicion that Vespa was meddling in his personal life. This was the third job that she had paired him and Nureyev’s alias of the week up on. He knew that Nureyev, Buddy, and Vespa were old friends, but he had no idea how much he’d told them. He’d elected not to share details even with Rita, who demanded them at almost every occasion and had a healthy suspicion of Nureyev which, to be honest, Juno wasn’t all that upset about. Rita knew that his taste in partners had always been a bit self destructive, so he couldn’t blame her for not trusting the man he’d disappeared with and came back from with one eye missing and an existential crisis. She stuck close to him whenever Nureyev was in the room, shooting not-so-subtle looks across the table like a high school kid. Juno didn’t mind. He knew that Nureyev’s self esteem didn’t hinge on the opinion of his secretary. 

 

He was wearing the sleak, black uniform of a security guard, a flashlight and taser strapped to either hip and plastic blasters on either ankle and one tapped to the small of his back. Pius was in similar fashion, rolling his shoulders to make sure he had full movement without cutting himself on the knife that Juno had tapped between his sharp shoulder blades a few minutes ago. He had a new scar, a light, compact star burst over his right kidney. Nureyev had sighed when Juno lingered over it. 

 

“You really don’t know who you can trust these days.” He said, rolling his eyes. “An old buyer I was sure I could rely on proved me wrong. Ah well, I supposed I’ve had to relearn some lessons on trust recently.” 

 

Juno had elected not to jump back with some confrontational jab, even though they were, for the first time since that hotel room, alone, and he could with no danger of exposing Nureyev. He deserved it anyway. 

 

They were stood in a hangar bay, waiting to discreetly make their way through the forest outside of Jeremiah Prig’s secluded mansion towards their target, sneaking in while Buddy and Vespa drew attention with their detail. With the girls making up an imaginary threat on the other side of the house (that threat being Jet, dressed up in a hilariously large suit, posing as a possible thief), he and Pius could easily sneak in and out. 

 

The ground was muddy and wet beneath the layer of leaves that covered the bottom layer of sludge. His boots were dirty within two seconds of hitting the ground. Nureyev seemed to float above it all, not a speck of mud anywhere on him. 

 

He had a few burning questions for Nureyev now that they were alone. But judging by the way the air crackled around him, it wasn’t the time. 

 

There was something extremely personal about the way Nureyev had talked about this job. About the relic. A crown, they said, the crown that had been affixed to the Lady’s statue in her original temple on Uranus. It was a grand thing, about six inches in diameter, and it had been taken from the temple after it burned down. The Congregation of Our Lady of Holy Death had thought it lost, but it had recently resurfaced on the black market. Nureyev must have been looking out for this kind of thing, because he brought this job to Buddy. Juno had woken one morning to Nureyev, disheveled as he’d ever been, planning out a heist in his sleep clothes with Buddy at the kitchen table, talking in quiet and quick tones that were somewhere between excitement and mania. He’d managed to calm down, a bit, but there was still an intensity about him. A lack of flair that seemed to cling to him. Nureyev was all business, which told Juno that this was personal. 

 

He followed behind Pius dutifully, trying to remain as quiet as possible as not to ruin his cover. They moved seamlessly, they moved like one unit. This kind of thing had happened before, moments of cohesion, instances where they fell in perfect line with each other. Passing a plate without having to be asked, a millisecond of a glance, a stab or shot an inch from their ear. Little moments where Juno was sure that they hadn’t missed a second. 

 

He stepped right, Pius stepped left, they fell in line with a group of security seamlessly, marching along without a sideways glance. 

 

___

 

When Juno tried to piece together exactly what happened after the fact, it went something like this. 

 

He and Pius were able to infiltrate the building without a hitch, Rita’s forged guard passes coming in particular handy. They’d broken off from the rest of their group as they rushed off to attend to Buddy and Vespa’s security issue on the ground floor. From there, they stayed silent, marching quickly and quietly towards the bottom floor. Juno watched Pius’s every move, studied how he held himself and mimicked it. Juno might not have been a very good actor, but he was an excellent chameleon. He’d betted his life more times that he could count on that particular skill. Pius didn’t flick those bright, dark eyes towards him once. 

 

The basement level of Prig’s mansion was layered in so much security that Juno wasn’t sure how long they’d go before somebody noticed. Pius, for his part was cool and clean. He spoke with authority that got them through every door that made Juno sweat. They turned a corner and were met with their last obstacle. They had to get the 24/7 guards standing in front of the vault doors to let them take over before the shift change. Before they stepped into earshot, Pius bent down and whispered, close enough to Juno’s ear for him to feel his breath; “Stay frosty. We’re almost done, darling.” 

 

Juno wasn’t sure if he should swoon at the term of endearment, or scowl at the idea that Pius thought he wasn’t already frosty. 

 

There were two guards who looked almost indistinguishable even though they were different species altogether. They remained stone faced as he and Pius approached. 

 

“We’re relieving you,” Pius said in sharp tones. “Threat upstairs, they need you.” It was a far fetched excuse, and Pius knew it. Juno could see the twitch in the corner of his eye. His tell. 

 

“Security code?” One of them asked, and Juno bit back a curse. He heard Rita jump through the comms. 

 

“ _ Hold on, hold on, it’s gonna take me a second…”  _ She squealed and Juno bit his lip. 

 

“Listen,” he said, “they really need you guys up there, there’s a potential thief. It’s big kid stuff, you should go.” 

 

“Security code.” It was the other who asked and it was more of a demand this time. Juno was beginning to panic. He watched as a bead of sweat tricked from Pius’s hairline down his neck. He saw his hand twitch for a knife. 

 

“ _ 9984548! _ ” Rita’s voice rung over the comms. Pius repeated it as she spoke seamlessly. His fingers were just grazing the hilt of the knife hidden at his hip. Juno breathed as the two of them nodded and, with one last sideways glance, marched down the hallway. 

 

“Fuck,” Pius whispered after they had turned the corner. 

 

“Yeah,” Juno agreed. With the hallway cleared, Juno stood at attention, blaster in hand, keeping lookout. 

 

The door on Prig’s vault was one of the biggest obstacles that they had overcome in the planning process. Nureyev and Rita had actually worked together on that one, much to Rita’s initial chagrin. Eventually, like he knew they would inevitably, she and Nureyev got on like a house on fire. The small, circular device that Nureyev was placing over the keypad on the vault was something the two of them had cobbled together over a weekend. They had gone into an excited rant about it, and Juno hadn’t really understood anything they said, but got the gist. It opened locked doors. 

 

After a few minutes, the thing beeped and the vault door hissed as it opened. Juno let out a breathe and followed Nureyev into the vault. 

 

It was a lot bigger than he thought it would be. It looked like a warehouse, like a hangar bay full of precious things. Everywhere he turned there was gold, silver, precious stones. He had never seen so much wealth in one place. Pius was behind him, sealing the door, and Juno heard the breathe he drew in as he turned. 

 

“Oh my…” He trailed off. The look on his face, the absolutely wonder, was unlike anything Juno had seen painted on his features before. Peter Nureyev or Adrian Pius or whatever was not the kind of person who was shocked easily. Juno had pulled a few fast ones of him, but never had he seen true, honest surprise on those sharp features. “Juno,” he breathed. “It’s not just the crown.” He sounded breathless, like something had knocked the wind out of his chest. Juno felt something akin to embarrassment burn in his stomach. This was something private. This was something vulnerable. 

 

“What do you mean?” He asked. His voice was low, careful to match Nureyev’s-because really, this  _ was  _ Nureyev, not anything else. No fake name or alias could strip him so entirely. Juno had never seen him so honest. 

 

“The crown isn’t the only Uranian relic.” There was something wet and wonderful in his eyes. “These are-“ his throat caught. Juno was terrified that he might be about to see Peter Nureyev cry. “These are  _ all  _ relics of Our Lady.” Her name had ownership in his mouth. 

 

“You’re shitting me,” Juno said lamely, breaking the holy silence in the room. Peter laughed, unbelieving. He turned, slowly observing the room. He turned and turned, his eyes growing wider as he went. And then they landed on the pedestal in the center of the room. It was raised above the rest, lit overhead like some grand treasure in one of Rita’s cheesy streams. It was less pedestal, more altar. It held something important, something devout. Something Juno couldn’t bare to touch. 

 

As soon Peter saw it, he gasped, his face twisting into something reverent. 

 

He approached the altar, and Juno saw the moment his knees went weak. 

 

Peter handled the Crown like it was holy. He held it like he held nothing else. Juno had watched him steal religious relics before, he’s seen him stow items from countless religions into bags as carefully as he would any precious stone, but he’d never seen Nureyev hold something like he was holding the hand god. 

 

He shook his head, pushed the thought away, and tried to focus up. They still had a job to do. 

 

Nureyev carefully wrapped the crown in his heavy, black jacket, held it close to his chest, and walked back to Juno like he was floating. 

 

There was no alarm, no grand declaration that thieves had entered the building. Instead, the roof simply began to fall, 

 

Nureyev ran into Juno as he jumped out of the way of a clump of cement that fell from the high ceiling. He cursed, the profanity strange on his so constantly elegant tongue. He took Juno’s hand in his own. 

 

“The door,” he insisted, dragging Juno along with him. Juno collided with it, pounding his fist, before grabbing for the machine that Peter had. “It’ll take too long, don’t waste time,” Nureyev said hurriedly. He seemed so dreamy, so lost somewhere else. Juno didn’t know what would wake him up if the sky falling didn’t. 

 

Juno pulled him out of the the way of a chunk of ceiling, accidentally pulling him into his chest in the process. 

 

“How the hell else do we get out?” He snarled. 

 

“We don’t,” Nureyev looked so very, very lost. “The room is airtight. We don’t get out.” 

 

“Get your shit together, Nureyev, you always get out!” Juno shouted over the falling rock. 

 

A piece of concrete fell between them and sent them sprawling away from each other. Juno hit the ground just before Nureyev did. He watched as those slender knees collided with the smooth floors of the vault, how his ballerina posture bent forward and collapsed, folding him over the crown. He watched as the panic bled into Nureyev’s face, as he categorized all of the relics in the room with a flick of his sharp, dark eyes and realized that he couldn’t save them all. Realized that he couldn’t even save the one. And something in Juno just broke at that. 

 

He dove forward and threw himself over Nureyev’s kneeling form, added that extra layer of protection. Even if neither of them survived this, then at least the crown would be safely preserved between their twisted bodies. He took in one large, heaving breathe, and then another, and then something collided with his head and he wasn’t aware of very much for a while. 

 

___

 

The next time he was awake, he was back aboard the ship. The dark metal of the ships low ceilings was blotted out by the sterile white lights that Vespa had dragged into the infirmary. His head hurt. 

 

Turning his head to the right deemed to be a challenge, and while turning to the the left was slightly better, that was like saying that it was slightly easier to shoot a pen from a thousand miles away than a pin. He decided to keep still and try to focus his eyes. 

 

It was slow going, getting his voice to work, but once it did it was rough and almost gone. He tried to call out for Vespa, since she was no doubt hiding away somewhere close, but all that came out was a squeak and a groan. 

 

Almost as soon as the noise left his chest, there were hands on him. Slender, cold, spider leg fingers danced over his pulse point, settling on his wrist with the smallest amount of pressure. Juno blinked away the fuzz around his eyes. 

 

Nureyev stood over him, the picture of poise, checking his watch on the other wrist and nodding. 

 

“You’re ticking away quite nicely, detective.” He said pleasantly. 

 

“‘m not…” his head was still full of fog, and he tried to parse out some kind of sentence through it. “Not a detective anymore.” Nureyev laughed deep in his chest, a rich, warm sound. 

 

“Well, whatever the case,” he said softly, running a hand over Juno’s hair. “I hope you don’t mind me playing nurse. Buddy had to force Vespa to retire for the evening.” 

 

“How long…” He barely parsed out his question before Nureyev was answering it. 

 

“A few hours.” He said. “Three, I think. You managed to save both myself and the crown to your own detriment, of course. Thank you, Juno. Although I did hope that you had moved past your insistence on self sacrifice.” He stepped back and sat on the side of Juno’s bed, keeping his finger on Juno’s pulse point. 

 

“I have,” Juno said lazily. “I’m not trying to get myself killed.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, resting his fingers against the gauze over the back of his head. Nureyev slowly removed his curious fingers and held his hand tightly in his own. 

 

“You could have fooled me.” He sounded bitter. Angry, almost. 

 

“Hey, I saved your life, I think you should drop the attitude.” He bit out before he could think better of it. 

 

“Oh  _ I’m  _ sorry!” Nureyev’s voice was raising. He stood from his place beside Juno and started pacing. “Did I  _ upset you,  _ Juno? Do my actions affect other people?” 

 

“I get it!” Juno snapped, regretting it and rubbing at his forehead. “I get it. It’s shitty when somebody risks their life and gets hurt. I don’t want to do it, I really don’t. But do I need to remind you that you were the one who called it quits and decided that a stupid fucking crown was more important than your life?” 

 

“It is!” Peter practically shouted. It was the first time since the Martian tombs that Juno had heard Nureyev raise his voice. He could see the fury this time, the righteous burn in his eyes. All of Nureyev’s anger was righteous, even when he was wrong. 

 

“Bull fucking shit!” Juno sat up too fast and his head spun. Nureyev stopped where he was and shot forward, arms outstretched, reaching for Juno. And he might have forgotten the argument so easily, but Juno didn’t. “I’m  _ fine.”  _ He bit out. “If the crown is so damn important, go nurse that, god knows I don’t need it.” Nureyev seemed to have some comeback on his tongue, but thought better of it. Instead, he turned on his high heel and stormed down the hallway, much louder than Juno had ever heard him walk. He sighed and rested his head back against the uncomfortable infirmary pillows. 

 

Shit. Fuck. Shit. 

 

___

 

The next time that Juno saw Nureyev was a week later. They were due to return to the monastery in a few hours, and Vespa had finally begun to allow him out of bed. He had one destination in mind. 

 

He knew which room was Nureyev’s. It was the first in a long hallway of rooms, right on the corner, the easiest to get out of if he needed to. Juno had figured it out by process of elimination, since he knew where Rita’s was, he’d managed to spy Jet going to one of them (even though he was still convinced the Big Buy never slept), and Buddy and Vespa were noisy neighbors. He knocked on the door three times, methodically, and waited very patiently for a response. After thirty seconds of silence, he had decided to turn tail and run to his own room, but the door slid open before he could. 

 

Peter Nureyev-no, not with that posture, no,  _ Adrian Pius  _ answered the door, and he answered it almost completely naked. 

 

Juno had to fight to keep himself from choking on air, and straightened. 

 

“Hey-“ He squeaked, a few octaves higher than he would like to admit. He dropped his vice a bit too low, overcompensating. “Hey, hey Pius, can uh- can I come in?” He stumbled through the sentence that he had prepared. He had rehearsed exactly what he was going to say over and over in his head all week. 

 

“Why of course, detective,” that nickname didn’t sound right in Pius’s voice. He said it like a title, like a name. It was professional, despite the fact that the only thing that he was wearing at the moment was a very small pair of lacy panties and a garter holding up his translucent stockings. Pius said it with none of the joking tone, none of the teasing that Nureyev did. It felt hollow. 

 

He followed obediently where Pius directed him, sitting a bit stiff on his bed. It was a lavish thing, bigger than the one that was in Juno’s room, and covered in a fine, red comforter. Pillows upon pillows lined the intricate headboard and Juno wondered briefly how Nureyev had managed to get the thing aboard. House plants littered the room, pots and boxes, hanging ferns and flowers scattered everywhere. Juno traced his eyes across them. 

 

“I didn’t know you had plants,” he said, a bit awkwardly.

 

“There’s a lot that you don’t know about me, Detective. What do you need?” Pius always sounded rushed, a bit rude, like he had something much more important that he wanted to attend to. Juno pushed down his frustration. This was a protection measure. A way to keep him at arm's length. He just needed to push through. 

 

“I wanted to apologize,” he said, “I didn’t mean to pick a fight, but I did. And you didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.” He bowed his head a little, looking at Pius’s messily painted toenails through his stockings. 

 

Pius hummed, nodded and turned away from Juno, unhooking his garters and slipping a stocking down his long leg. Juno looked away, slightly embarrassed, and trying to to think about the hotel room, about the last time he had seen this much of Nureyev’s skin. 

 

“But I also wanted to say,” Juno murmured, staring intently at a peace lily in the corner by the door. “That we have a dangerous job, and yeah, my past hasn’t given me a great track record, but I’ve been trying. Really hard, Nureyev-“ 

 

“Who?” Pius’s voice called from across the room, schooled in perfect confusion. 

 

“Fuck, fine,  _ Pius,”  _ Juno gritted out. “I’m trying okay? I really am. And I know there will always be a level of… suspicion when I end up in the infirmary, but  _ fuck,  _ when I tell you that I’m okay, will you trust me?” He hadn’t meant to sound so upset. He’d practiced and practiced and still his blood boiled, desperate to be understood, but unable to communicate. 

 

“I  _ don’t  _ trust you.” There was Nureyev’s voice. Quiet. Hurt. Juno looked up finally, cast his eyes on the man he’d really come to talk to. 

 

Nureyev looked good in white. He usually wore bold colors, black, pink, that one mint green suit embroidered with bright red flowers. But kneeling over the imported carpet in his room, this was as plain as Juno had ever seen him. He wore loose, linen pants that hung on his hips, a white tunic that draped over his body. He shed his glasses, his earrings, his make up, stripped himself down to the barest form. He made himself a base body like he did when he was making a new persona. He was a blank canvas. 

 

Juno watched from the bed as Nureyev reverently laid the long, translucent white cloth over his head. 

 

“What’s that for?” He asked, breaking in the silence that had filled the room. 

 

“It’s traditional,” Nureyev started “to cover ourselves like we would for burial.” The sleeves of his tunic flowed long enough for Peter to cover his hands as he opened a trunk in the closet and retrieved the crown. “Do you know why the vault tried to bury us alive instead of killing us in much easier ways?” Juno shook his head. “They assumed that anyone who would rob a room full of Her relics worshipped Our Lady. And if her followers aren’t buried in the proper dress, then their souls aren’t saved.” 

 

“That’s a stupid rule,” Juno said without thinking, “you spend all that time worshiping someone, and suddenly, just because they’re wearing jeans…” Peter smiled behind his veil. 

 

“I suppose it is, isn’t it?” He looked so beautiful, awash in reverence and white. Juno wanted to debauch all of that holiness. He wanted to put Nureyev on a shelf and make sure nobody touched him ever again. He wanted to clean the bruises from his wrists. 

 

“They assumed right about you, didn’t they?” Juno asked, burying his face in his hands. 

 

“Yes,” Nureyev answered. He sighed as he bowed his head and observed the crown again. “It was popular among the poor of Brahma. To revere the thing that comes so often and quickly. Death was something that we had to see every day. Starvation, sickness, injury. Most people died before they reach fifteen. Those of us who survived were instilled with a kind of respect. Be fearful of the thing that’s coming for you and you might outrun it a bit longer. Our Lady, She was a tangible way to worship and fear.” 

 

“Your religion is based of being afraid of your god?” Juno asked. 

 

“Most are.” Peter replied easily. “Let me know when you can think up a single god that didn’t instill terror in Their followers. That’s the point.” Silence stretched across the room again. 

 

“Sorry,” Juno eventually said. Nureyev smiled. 

 

“Whatever for, my dear?” He asked. His voice was quiet and lacking in his usual flair. 

 

“Being an asshole about this.” He waved his hand in a very general manner. “I don’t know, religion has always seemed like a nice thing to have, but I can’t invest myself in something I have no proof of.” 

 

“It’s funny,” Nureyev said, “you invested yourself in me.” 

 

And fuck, he had him there. 

 

“And anyway, my dear,” Peter continued, “there is plenty of proof of Death. Even if there isn’t some grand, great woman in the sky collecting souls, the very thing of it has some sort of mysticism about it. Death is ugly and messy and sad, but there is something holy about it.” 

 

Juno couldn’t argue with that. He didn’t move to kiss Nureyev although he would have liked to. He didn’t move to collect him up in his arms or run his fingers through his soft, thick hair. 

 

“I’m sorry too, for what it's worth,” Nureyev said softly, staring down at the crown. “But I think I’ve had my fill of dragging your lifeless body out of danger.” Juno felt that like a punch to the chest. He could have cried. 

 

“You know, I think I have too.” He said instead of weeping, instead of running, instead of wrapping his arms around Nureyev’s holy frame. 

 

“If you mean it,” Nureyev said, “If you mean to truly mend this relationship,” he sighed and closed his eyes. Juno watched his features from behind the veil. He was right. When he looked at him straight on, it was almost like it wasn’t there. Like there was nothing between them. “Then you’re going to have to prove it. Really prove it. I appreciate words, I think they’re very pretty, but I don’t hold much stock in them. I require action.” Juno nodded. 

 

“Me too,” he said. “And just so you know, I  _ am  _ sorry that I left you there. I’m not sorry I left though.” He realized how harsh he sounded and quickly back tracked. “I mean that I don’t think I could have left anyway. I don’t think it would have been good. I had things that I needed to do and some things that I needed to work on in me before I was good enough to leave. And now I’m good. I’m actually good, Nureyev-“

 

“Who?” This time, his voice was tinged with a smile, a joke behind the mask. 

 

“I mean it. I do. I want to fix this. And just so you know, I don’t do good with ultimatums. I tend to self destruct.” He tacked on. Nureyev nodded, looked down at the crown in his hands. 

 

“Alright. Alright, Juno.” He stood and crossed the room. “I suppose that I have trust to earn back as well, yes?” Juno nodded, reluctantly. They stared for a moment, eyes tracking over each other. Juno wanted to take handfuls of white, to bunch it all up and toss it on the floor, but he was afraid to even touch him. Afraid that something would be ruined, something would be stained. 

 

He stood and walked out of Nureyev’s room with him, watched as he floated down the hallway. Juno wanted to chase after him, to wrap him up in his arms, to never, ever let go. He wanted, he wanted, he stayed still, steadfast in the hall while Nureyev floated away, awash in holy light. 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me on tumblr at gayshitiguess.


End file.
